


In Which You Dick Down the Chompette

by AgitatingSkeleton



Category: Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bowsette - Freeform, F/M, Mild BDSM, Petplay, collarplay, here's my contribution to this meme, sharp teeth, super crown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-21 01:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgitatingSkeleton/pseuds/AgitatingSkeleton
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin.





	1. Dick Down the Chompette

How did it even come to this, you wonder as you press your back to the wall, a feminine face full of teeth just half a foot from your own. You try to think of a way out, but you can't hear your thoughts over the overwhelmingly loud barking coming from the person - at least, it probably counts as a person, in that form - hovering inches from your face, keeping you trapped in the corner of the abandoned dungeon. 

It is, without even a sliver of doubt, a chain chomp. It may not immediately resemble one in its current form, but one look at its round, glassy eyes devoid of higher thought, or its large sharp teeth that glimmer like polished metal, or the fact that its chain-tethered by the neck to an old wooden stake in the cobblestone floor it so incessantly keeps trying to break free from, and one would know what it is.

Or rather, what she is.

A golden super crown, positively sparkling in the dimly lit dungeon, sits precariously on the top of her head. A thick steel collar is locked firmly around her neck, an equally thick chain keeping her in place. The crown and collar are easily the most well-maintained part of her appearance - the black dress she is wearing, which you could imagine once resembled that of Princess Toadstool of the Mushroom Kingdom, is torn from the knees down, and an empty divot over the bosom calls attention to the missing gem pin that adorns all Princess' gowns.  Black unkempt hair stretches down from her head to the floor, sweeping at the ground behind her. Through her torn dress you can see that one of her white royal stockings had gone missing, and she had no shoes at all.

It's not like she could have fixed herself up, assuming she had the mental capacity for that. A large, heavy looking block of solid brick encases her arms from the elbow down, keeping them bound behind her back, away from you. That is most certainly a good thing, as you are well within arm's reach of her. Had she had access to her hands, she would've have pulled you in and taken a bite out of you with those sharp, metallic mouth-spikes some would call "teeth".

Every few seconds, she runs to the other side of the room, past the stake she's chained to, and barks at you. Really loudly. Then she stops, and rushes forward with her mouth wide open. Then, just short of your face, she reaches the end of her chain, and her jaws snap closed in the most unsettling way possible. In the echo of the dungeon, the sound of her teeth meeting with all that force sounds like the massive steel doors of Bowser Castle slamming shut. Then she bites the thin air for a few more seconds while struggling against her bonds. Then she gets tired, and fixes you with a glassy stare, smiling but panting, perfectly shined teeth gleaming. Then, only then, do her eyes light up, as if realizing she can't reach you. Then she runs to the other side of the room.

And tries again.

And again.

And again.

Now that you think about it, this is exactly how normal chain chomps act - like guard dogs. So why is she cooped up in a dusty old dungeon? Looking around you while moving as little of your body as possible, you observe your surroundings. The place is falling apart - the roof caved in just as you passed by, which is how you got here in the first place. So, it's not being maintained, and it appears the chomp - or, chompette - was forgotten by whoever used this place last. There's no flags or banners around bearing the face of Queen Bowsette (formerly known as King Koopa), but you still wouldn't rule it out. So, if she was here for a long time, how'd she get a crown?

Everything started getting weird throughout the kingdoms when King Koopa stole the super crown from Princess Toadstool and her loyal subject, Toadette, and used it on himself. You're not privy to royal drama, but everyone has heard some form of rumor about it. 'Bowser just wanted to get back at Peach for rejecting him one too many times.' 'Bowser is always kidnapping the princess because deep down he wants to be a princess.' 'The Mario brothers would never hit a princess, so Bowser turned himself into one so they can't foil his plans.' And of course, 'Bowser is making an army of cute princesses to take over the world with their cuteness.'

That one was always regarded as a joke for the first two or three days, to lighten the mood when people would worry too much about Bowser's antics. Since then you've heard rumors of countless other people, nefarious, benevolent, and civilian, use replica super crowns for their own purposes.

It's been ten days since the crown was stolen. You saw several enthusiastic goombettes watching the tennis semi-finals last week. You ordered a woohoo blend at Starbeans from a very shy booette the other day. You bumped into, and got lost for words trying to apologize to, a snarky bullet belle this morning. Everywhere you went, everywhere you looked, there was an -ette or two. These past few days, they were beginning to outnumber the normal toads at Toad Town.

And they are all adorable. Whether or not Bowsette's goal is to conquer the world with an army of cute girls, you don't doubt the effectiveness of such a plan.

Looking now at the chain chomp girl before you, the crown on her head still perfectly fine despite all her struggling, you realize she, too, is very cute. It's a bit hard to think that when she's trying to rip out your throat, but it's the truth. Her round, empty eyes and dilated pupils, her crescent moon grin full of blades for teeth, her messy black hair, and her generally disheveled appearance have a charm of their own. You find her whimpers and whines as she fails to reach you endearing, her blank unthinking stare positively heartwarming. You wouldn't mind freeing her if you weren't trapped.

Oh right, you're trapped. If only you were an Italian plumber. Those guys are deceptively acrobatic. No doubt you would've triple jumped out of here by now had you the agility of a portly mustached maintenance man. But you, sadly, are you, and will have to use your brains to find a way home with your head still on your shoulders.

A sickening crunch of cobblestone snaps you out of your thoughts. A weight barrels into you, and all you can see is messy black hair as the chompette tackles you to the ground. Her barks are louder than ever before, echoing in the chamber and ringing in your ears.

You didn't think you'd die like this - eaten alive by a surprisingly cute girl. There are worse ways to go, you think, but you would've preferred living. You close your eyes and accept your fate.

You wait for metal teeth to dig into you, but a few seconds pass with nothing, the barking having died down into excited pants. You force one eyelid open, and then another, to find the chompette straddling your hips, staring at you with heavy breaths.

This is a life or death situation. Don't get a boner.

But there is a disheveled girl straddling you. She's breathing heavily.

Just then, she bends down, practically laying on top of you, and sniffs at your neck.

This is it, she's decided to bite you now. Don't get a boner.

You can't help but feel her hot breaths on your neck as her natural feminine scent fills your nostrils.

Don't get a boner.

You get a boner.

At this point you'd rather just die quickly, but any hopes for that are dashed away as the chompette straightens up on top of you. She looks down inquisitively at your groin for a few seconds, still panting.

When she shimmies down, now effectively sitting on your knees, and brings her face down to your crotch, it makes you full mast. She sniffs and pants and whimpers at the stiffening tent in your pants, struggling against the block of bricks encasing her arms.

You take a second to sit up - carefully, so as not to startle the girl with deadly sharp teeth that's investigating your groin - and look to the center of the abandoned chamber. It seems she managed to pull the stake out of the ground with sheer force alone, but her hands are still bound by the brick block.

With a bark, the chompette shoves her head into your chest, forcing you back to the floor. She attempts to crawl back on top of you, her face nuzzled in your shirt, but her lower body seems to have other plans.

She's humping your right leg. Soft whimpers and coos loose from her lips as she continues slapping her hips against yours. You begin to feel a moist spot on your right thigh.

It is much, much too late to say 'don't get a boner'. If you thought you were at full mast earlier, you are surprised to find yourself even harder than that. It's beginning to hurt.

Throwing caution to the wind, you throw your arms around the chompette, earning a small yelp of surprise. With all your might, and a few guttural grunts, you manage to flip yourselves over, and now you find yourself on your hands and knees, looking down at empty black eyes. Looking down on a chompette on heat.

Your hands find themselves on your pants as you kiss and suck at the chained girl's neck, danger be damned. Her lewd whines and occasional throaty groans echo all around as you undo your bottoms, freeing your impossibly erect length. You paw at her ruined dress, managing to pull up the remains of the skirt to find her naked, sopping wet sex. You straighten up to admire her slit, and she seems to return the favor by looking between her legs and lighting up at your exposed shaft. She lets out a happy bark.

Are you really about to do it with a chain chomp? One that might not have been a girl prior to wearing the crown? Here, in the dusty ruins of an old dungeon?

Yes.

You plunge yourself into her, and have your breath taken away by the pure heat. It's so, so hot inside of her, it almost stings. You try to take a few seconds to reel in your senses, but the chompette underneath you has other ideas. She wraps her legs around your waist tightly, and begins wildly bucking her hips upward to meet yours. It seems you are forced to just take it as she fucks herself silly on your dick. You throw your head back and moan as the girl under you pants and howls and yips with every movement. You feel a familiar tightening in your loins, and suddenly all senses come back to you.

In just a split second, your mind formulates a bevy of questions. Can chain chomps get pregnant with human sperm? How do chain chomps reproduce anyway? Since she's wearing a crown, and she obviously has a human vagina, she must have a human reproductive system. What happens if she gets pregnant, and the crown comes off? Are you the kind of guy who nuts and bolts? Are you really okay with leaving a girl you shared a tender moment with trapped in a dungeon, possibly carrying your child? By god, what would your possible child look like? What happens when this is over?

You feel a sharp pain as the chompette sinks her teeth into your shoulder, taking you from your thoughts again. You'd think that would be a deal breaker, but good lord, it sends you over the edge, and you spill your seed into her. The chompette tightens her leg-grip on your waist, digging her heels into your back. She slams her hips with a mighty force into yours, taking your prick up to the hilt in her fiery womb. She absolutely milks your balls for your cum, and you let out an embarrassingly feminine cry as you empty yourself - or rather, get emptied - into the chompette's box.

For a few seconds, you two hold this position, and when the last drop is spent, you finally collapse on top of her. Both of you are breathless, panting, gasping for air. With post-coitus clarity you pull out of her, and you're astonished at how cool the air is around you now. You slowly get back up and --

You are thrown onto your back with ease. The chompette straddles you once more, seemingly determined for a second round. She sinks your meat back into her, and begins bouncing on it, panting wildly. Her eyes are even more glazed than usual, and with frantic movements she rides your rod. It takes a second for you to realize she's looking at your other shoulder, licking her lips.

In an effort to protect yourself from another 'love bite' you reach up at her collar- you tell yourself it's because it hurts and it's unpleasant, but honestly, it's because you're afraid you'd develop a fetish for being bitten if she does it again. Thinking fast, you pull at her chain away from you, and she knocks her head back from the force.

Her knees give out, and falls off of you, onto her shoulder with a considerable 'thud'. Were you too strong with the chain? Is she hurt?

She gets on her knees before you, and turns her head to make eye contact with you. You can practically see the hearts in her eyes as she sways your hips seductively at you, a mixture of her love juice and your cum dripping out. She whimpers softly, waiting for you.

You shiver a little at how aroused you are. You place a tentative hand on the chain, and give it another tug - this time gentler. She yelps in pleasure. Your throat is suddenly very dry, and you swallow your spit as you give her chain another testing yank - a little harder now. An extremely shameless, erotic moan escapes her, and her upper body gives out. Her face hits the floor, drool pooling at her cheeks. There's definitely hearts in her eyes now.

That's all the provocation you need. You slam your dick into her, and are welcomed back into her molten core. You pull her chain with just enough force to elicit a response, and are pleased to see the chompette's eyes roll up in ecstasy, a whimper of joy on her mouth. With one hand on her ass cheeks and one hand on the chain, you fuck her like a wild animal. The sound of wet skin colliding with wet skin, and panicked lewd yelps, yips, and moans fill the dungeon. You're sure you're audible even outside the sunken ruins, but you just don't care. You keep going and going, and you don't even need to check if your partner is enjoying herself - she's happy to let you know in the form of loving looks and groans of pleasure.

You feel a heat boiling in you again, and you keep going, not a care in the world for consequences. Finally, when you're at your peak, you let out a herculean roar and slam your hips into her own. You press your face into the chompette's shoulders and yank with all the force you can muster. The chompette seems to like it, given that she lets out a long shriek and explodes on your dick, her whole body tensing up and spasming, her inner walls milking you again for what you so readily give her. You shoot your hot cum as deep in her as you can, and for a few seconds, you both know nothing but bliss.

After taking a moment to catch your breath, the sweet chompette beneath you panting like a happy puppy, you finally release yourself from her, unplugging her hole. Dollops of cum - yours and hers - come pouring out, pooling on the dungeon floor. She gives you another loving look and cheerful bark before fluttering into a sleep.

...

Now what?

* * *

"Oh, she's your pet?" asks the Toad Town tailor, an older female toad. One of the last toads to not wear a super crown, you note - her assistants have already made the change.

You nod shyly in response. Technically you shouldn't be so sheepish - lots of people have chain chomps for pets. But then again, you are the first one to have a princess chomp as a pet. You got an uncomfortable number of glances and stares as you led a very obedient Chompy through town.

"Don't worry dear, we'll fix her right up," the tailor assures you.

You give Chompy a pet, tousling her already tousled hair, and hand her leash to an assistant. To her credit, the assistant doesn't seem hesitant at all. She leads Chompy to a back room where they'll measure her and fit new clothes to replace her rags from the dungeon.

"Poor dear, who knows how long she's been trapped in that dungeon," the tailor sighs. "She's lucky you found her, you know! Say, how about I'll contact the salon, have her cleaned up while we make a dress for her? She could use a haircut, and a proper bath," she adds. "Then she'll look like a real princess!"

You nod enthusiastically. You have the coins for it, and you'd rather spend it on Chompy then anything else.

You look over at the back room, and see toad assistants taking the chompette's measurements. Chompy seems to notice you looking, and gives you her signature adorable grin, full of sharp metallic teeth, and gives you a happy bark.

You could get used to this.


	2. Chompette 2: Dick Harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing her home.

“Welcome back, sir,” greets the peachette at the counter.  of the salon. “Are you here to pick up Chompy?”

You nod, and pay the coins for their services. The counter girl leads you to the back, and you’re nothing short of blown away by what you see.

What once was a disheveled mess of a woman dressed in rags and chained to a crumbling dungeon now stands a beautiful princess. Chained to a barber chair. But, she’s beautiful. Her black shaggy hair that had swept at the cobblestone floor behind her has been cut to a cute neck-length bob, shining like ebony off a piano. She’s wearing the clothes you picked at the tailor, a modest black dress– a shiny black gem pin adorning the center, of course – with a knee-length circle skirt. It looks adorable on her. Her dress shows her legs from the knee down, and you can she’s wearing brand new white stockings. Both of them this time. Shiny black low-heeled shoes cover her once bare feet. And of course, she has her crown.

She’s much cleaner now, too. Her skin, which you now realize is quite pale, is free of any dirt or blemishes. Her eyes are as black and round as ever, and still a little blank, but that’s just a charm point for you at this point. Of course, her signature semi-circle grin full of sharp, metal teeth is as still there. She was grinning and panting as usual when you entered, staring at her reflection on a mirror, but you see her eyes light up as she spots you, and her grin becomes a full, genuine smile. She starts barking immediately, and struggles against her bonds.

Your heart flutters just looking at her, but you try not to look too lovestruck. There are other clients and employees here, and they all seem to be interested in what’s got the chompette all excited (that would be you). Coming closer to Chompy, you realize her hands are still bound behind her back, but the block of solid brick has been replaced with black iron handcuffs, matching her, you now notice, brand new collar.

“We’re sorry for having to restrain her, sir,” the peachette from the counter apologizes, “but we’re required to keep chain chomps bound as per city laws.” She pauses and looks at Chompy before continuing. “No exceptions have been made for chompettes yet, as I believe Chompy here is the first we know of.”

You tell her it’s alright as you step towards the increasingly-excited Chompy. You place a hand on her head, and the chompette presses her skull as far as it can reach into your palm, whimpering as she practically begging you to pet her.

You stroke her hair and tell her you missed her too, which makes seems to make her very happy, based on her little yips of joy. You slide your hand from the top of her head to her chin, making sure to rub the line between her neck and her cheek as you go, and make your way to her chin. Chompy’s eyes flutter open, revealing her pupils rolling up in enjoyment. A little drool wets your palm, and Chompy’s left leg starts shaking, her heel clicking on the tile floor relentlessly. You feel your throat get a little dry as you continue your ministrations.

“Oh my...” the peachette giggles, reminding you of her existence as well as the existence of all others present. “She’s very happy to see you,” she teases, a gloved hand covering her mouth. You nod as you keep your eyes trained to the floor, and your hands to your sides. You barely manage a ‘you too’ as the peachette thanks you for your patronage and hands you the keys to Chompy’s new collar and handcuffs.

You try to ignore the stares and whispers of the patrons and workers around you as you take Chompy’s chain and thank the peachette for their work. You also try to ignore the stares and whispers of random people you pass as you lead a very happy, very noisy, and very cuddly Chompy through town, back to your apartment.

After a short walk that felt like forever, you finally reach your apartment building and enter the lobby, feeling a weight drop off your shoulders as you come to the relative safety of the apartment's main hall.

Relative safety. You’re not quite out of it yet.

“Oh, me oh my,” the sultry voice of Spora, your landlady chimes in. “What have we here?”

You turn to face her, sitting seductively at the front desk, and greet her politely. Even now as you try to hide Chompy behind you, the curious chompette steps aside and barks sweetly at the older peachette.

“Your pet, I assume?” Spora asks, gesturing at Chompy as she fishes out her long pipe and lights it. “You know we have a no pet policy, right darling?” She takes a puff and blows, and even from the distance between the desk and where you’re standing, you are awash with the intoxicating cloud of her scented tobacco.

You shake your head, holding your free hand out and waving it for good measure. You explain that Chompy here – say hello, Chompy – is a friend of yours who needs some place to stay for the indefinite future. Just a friend. Yeah.

You tug on Chompy’s chain to rein her.

Chompy barks.

Spora crosses her long legs over the counter, and you catch a glimpse of inner thigh as she folds one leg over the other on the top of the desk, to the side so she can see you. She takes a long drag and puffs it out before fixing you with a devilish smile and replies.

“And the leash?” Before you can answer, she laughs the crude laugh of a mature, experienced woman and continues. “Kinky, I like it.”

You swallow your spit and keep your mouth shut. Your landlady was once a normal, slightly shy toadette. A little soft spoken, a bit older than you and a lot shorter, and you never saw her smoke. You remember offering to help her bring some supplies back to her office, and she told you it’s fine, and then she struggled with the heavy bags, and then you ended up helping her while she apologized profusely. That was just last week.

One day, you came down to the lobby to find her sitting there, golden hair tied into an intricate braid, dressed in a tight, blue princess’ gown with a fitted skirt up to her shins, with a cleavage window revealing her generous bust. She was wearing dark stockings and blue stiletto heels, and of course, a golden super crown on her head. And it’s not just her appearance that changed – she had grown a lot less shy and a lot bolder, in both clothing decisions and personality, ever since.

You shake your head again, and explain again that Chompette is just a friend, and you describe how you met her – expertly dodging around the details of what happened in that dungeon, instead skipping to the end where you rescued her. She certainly won’t cause any trouble for her or the tenants, you explain. She’ll always wear her collar and outside your apartment, as she is a considerate (obedient) person and obeys the laws (what you tell her).

Spora remains silent for a few moments. Her long, manicured fingernails tap and drum at the edge of the table.

You offhandedly mention you are willing to pay an increase in rent to accommodate Chompy on her property.

“After some consideration” she finally speaks up. “I'll be willing to let her stay with you.”

You begin to thank her, but she raises a hand to stop you.

“Two conditions,” she says, finally putting her pipe down. “One, her crown stays on when in this building."

You nod.

“Two,” she adds, uncrossing her legs and standing up from her seat. She walks up to you and places a finger on your chest. “you won’t have to pay extra,” she half-whispers. “Just be there when I need an...” she trails off, giving you a quick rover eye.  “Errand boy,” she says with a sly grin. Her perfume is overpowering from how close you are, and you notice she’s a little taller than you in that form, especially with those heels on.

You try not to think about how good she looks for her age. Is this what Princess Toadstool will look like as she gets older?

Chompy barks happily at Spora, who ignores her and instead continues to make uncomfortable eye contact with you.

You nod politely and thank the landlady, to which she laughs and sends you on your way. With that, you lead Chompy upstairs. Your apartment is the second-to-the-last door on the hall, right next to the abandoned and permanently locked ‘under maintenance’ room at the very end. You manage to find your keys and bring her into your apartment with no further incident, ignoring the creepy and forbidden aura of room neighboring yours.

You sigh, finally free from judging eyes, and lock the door behind for good measure. You turn to find Chompy sniffing at everything in your apartment, which is small in size, and a fucking mess. She wanders as far your grip on her chain will let her, sniffing everything she can. You gently tug on her chain to pull her way from the more breakable furniture, and instead lead her to the beat-up sofa in the center.

You push some pillows aside to make space, and sit her down in the center. You sit next to her and pet her head, which seems to keep her happy and quiet for a while. You go at it for several minutes, petting her head, her neck, and chin, and behind her ears, and then her head some more. The only sounds around you come from Chompy, panting and moaning and other sweet, loving noises – and as you just realize, you’re own heavy breathing as you continue to pet and rub and scratch the girl sitting on the sofa next to you.

That’s when you tell her to stay on the sofa, to which she just barks in response. You stand - despite Chompy’s barks and whines of protest – and look for the TV remote. It’s not on the sofa. It’s not under the sofa. It’s not on the coffee table. Ah, it’s under the coffee table. You grab it and switch the TV on, turning it to a music video channel playing the latest sugary sweet normcore pop song. Chompy is distracted by the bright lights and flashy colors of the TV and turns her full, undivided attention to it.

You gracefully hop over to the kitchen and heat up a microwave dinner, peeking out of the kitchen to check on your chompette every few seconds. When it’s finally over, you step out with the hot meal to the living room and find Chompy sitting on the floor, her face practically merged with the screen. Placing the food down, you gently tug on her chain, dragging the obedient girl back to the sofa. You gently stroke her hair as you fish for the keys to her restraints.

When you find them, you gently unlock her iron handcuffs. She immediately pulls her hands to her face, and remains unusually silent for a few moments, quietly examining her now free hands. It takes you by surprise when she forcefully takes both of your own hands in her, looking at you like a puppy in love, barking and yipping with pure joy. You can’t help but smile and let her hold your hands for a while longer. Finally, after a few seconds of watching her watch you hold her hands, you begin unlocking her collar. With a click, it falls heavy onto the sofa, sinking into the mattress.

Chompy brings her hand to her neck, rubbing at the now exposed skin. Her eyes look even more blank than usual, like her brain is still processing what had just happened. She touches her throat, her nape, the sides of her neck, before snapping out of it. You get thrown onto the floor by a very appreciative Chompy, cuddling and pressing against you as you struggle not to topple the table and all the things strewn across it.

Chompy is relentless in her attack, her hands and face exploring your face, your body, your hands, and you laugh and smile. Then you feel a hand slip down the garter of your pants, and you go blank for a second. Before you can react, you feel the graze of metal teeth your shoulder – the same shoulder from before – and you shriek like a scandalized maiden, trying to straighten up away from her grip.

Despite not having arms for, you assume, most of her life, and having just been freed of her handcuffs, you find Chompy to be very adept at her using her hands. You’re pinned down with no hope for escape, your shirt is already pulled up your chin, and your pants have come undone, a tight yet loving grip on your turgid shaft. Chompy buries her face in your neck as she starts working your length, and her panting and hot breaths make the hairs on your nape stand on end. For a moment, you stop struggling, considering letting her do what she wants, but when you feel the cold metal of her teeth press against your quickening pulse, you start struggling again. To no avail of course, as Chompy has both your wrists in an inescapable grip in one hand, your dick in the other.

A primal instinct in you tells you to let the girl with knife-teeth who’s nuzzled against your neck, and is holding your sensitive bits in an iron grip, to do as she pleases for now.  You listen to that instinct, and you surrender to her surprisingly expert ministration. You feel her panting faster on your neck as she increases the speed of her handjob. After a few more seconds her going at it, she suddenly stops, shoots straight up, and starts pulling at her dress. From down there, you can only barely see her face under her hair and the shadows, but you catch a glimpse of her eyes - round and wide like in shock, pupils contracted to dots in the center of seas of white.

You’re terrified.

And you are so, so hard right now.

She pulls up her skirt, revealing lacy white panties that the tailors got for her. A little bow near the garter makes you think more of idols and less of princesses. Chompy finally withdraws her grip on your wrists to remove her panties, and you clasp her white stocking-clad thighs as she straddles you. She lowers herself onto you, concealing your throbbing prick under her dress.

You can’t see it, but you can certainly feel yourself enter her drooling, burning hot slit. She places her hands heavily on your chest and begins to ride you like a frenzied animal, her mouth wide open and eyes rolling up as she frantically bouncing on your rod, panting and barking all the while. You place your hands on her wrists and start bucking your hips into hers. You pull her wrists off of you, and place your palms on hers, letting her hold your hands for balance as she slams your dick into her with increasing pace.

She looks at her hands, locked into yours, and looks ready to cry tears of joy. Her chest crashes into you, her lower body twitching as she her grip your hands like her life depended on it. You feel her love canal spasming around you, convulsing wildly and sending tingles down your dick all the way to your spine. Did she reach orgasm from hand holding? You feel lightheaded as she continues to tighten her hands on your palms and her pussy on your dick, a long drawn out moan of ecstasy coming from her mouth right next to your ear. But you keep pumping until her arms give out, and she collapses on top of you, panting as if tortured by thirst.

You wrap your arms around her waist, clench your teeth, and buck your hips up, up, up as hard as you can, as deep as you can, earning several moans and whines from the limp body on top of you. Finally, you feel the boiling heat in you come to a peak, and you hilt yourself in her, releasing shot after shot of your molten seed into her. You feel her press her face into your neck again, and her open mouth puffing hot breaths at your neck and shoulder, which you feel she is obsessed with. That doesn’t matter though, as you hold onto her for dear life and empty your sack into her waiting, quivering womb.

After what feels like forever, you finally drop your hips to the floor, and you both feel exhausted but content. Your shrinking meat pulls out of her, and you feel warm fluids running down your thighs, proof of your tryst. She falls off of you, onto her back beside you, sandwiched between you and the sofa. You hold hands, panting, staring at the ceiling, knowing nothing but each other’s presence. Finally breaking out of the trance, you reach for her chin and pull it close, planting an innocent kiss on her lips. You look in her eyes to see surprise, quickly replaced by love as she returns the kiss.

After a moment spent in eternity, just kissing, just looking into her eyes, you finally get up and get some tissues off the coffee table. You wipe at your thighs and your numb, flaccid dick, then you wipe at her legs and her pussy overflowing with your juices. She looks inquisitively at you, completely dumbfounded as to what you’re doing, but she never once struggles or bark as you clean her and dress her back up.

You sit her down on the sofa and hand her the TV dinner you heated up earlier, now cool from how long it waited to be eaten. At first, she stares at the tray, the concept of instant food probably alien to her. You realize you should get her utensils, but before you get up she digs into it, hands holding the bottom of the plastic tray, face buried in the food. The sound of chomping and slurping completely fills your apartment as has her first meal in god knows how long. You smile and pet Chompy lovingly as she chows down on her meal.

It’s obvious she’s not just your pet, and you definitely aren’t just roommates. But watching her happily plow through that cheap instant meal, you realize you don’t care. You love her, and she loves you. Nothing else matters. You sigh dreamily as you stroke the chompette’s hair, looking forward to your simple life together.


	3. Chompette 3: Apocalypse Dick

“The queen of the Koopa Kingdom, Bowsette, formerly known as Bowser, as once again broken into Peach’s Castle just two hours ago,” announced the peachette news caster. It’s strange, just last night, the nightly news anchor was a portly male toad. Weird.

“Sources say that Princess Toadstool and the famous Mario brothers were having tea at the time of the attack,” she continued in her professional voice. “Eye witness reports tell us that Mario and Luigi managed to fend off the attacking Queen Koopa, but Mario himself went missing after the attack. The princess was thankfully unharmed, but Mario has yet to be seen since the incident. Princess Toadstool denied comment. More news as events unfo--”

You turn the TV off and look down at Chompy resting her head on your lap. You’ve been stroking her hair for the better half of the afternoon now, and she not once stirred or moved off since you started. You assumed she was taking a nap, but now that you look at her you see she’s been making the sweetest face of puppy love at you.

You smile and place your hands on her cheeks, pulling her up to give her a kiss. She yips happily, nuzzling her head against your palms. You finally stand up and take her by the hand – she really enjoys holding hands, so she doesn’t complain – to the kitchen, where you heat ap another TV dinner for her. She blew right through Steak and Gravy, and now you’ll see if she likes Chicken and Potatoes. Attracted to the scent of cooking meat, Chompy kneels in front of the microwave and watches the tray inside spin for the next three minutes, as per the packaging instructed, and you pet her to while away the time. She angrily barks at the microwave when her food stops spinning and the machine starts beeping incessantly. You put a stop to it and pull her steaming food out, placing it on the small dining table.

You sit her down in front of the table, and tell her to eat up. She quite readily obeys, ignoring the utensils you prepared on the table in favor of bring her face down on the food tray. You laugh as she eats like an animal, and realize you’ll probably have to teach her how to eat like a princess if you ever decide to bring her out for lunch.

You grab a plate of leftover pizza from the fridge, and you place it on the table without heating it up. You sit across Chompy, who only stops eating momentarily to look at you and smile with gleaming teeth and messy cheeks. You smile back and eat your cold pizza, and Chompy returns to her food. Barring the chomping and slurping coming from the girl in front of you, you two eat in silence.

You always eat in silence, but this is the first time it wasn’t so lonely.

* * *

You try to control your breathing as you rinse off Chompy in the cramped shower room. It would be fine if she could bathe herself, but you left her alone in there for a maximum of two minutes before started barking and whimpering and crying for you. When you opened the shower curtain she was so happy she tackled you to the bathroom floor and hugged you, still naked.

She’s naked. You didn’t realize it until you stripped her of her clothes earlier, but you hadn’t seen her naked until then. Even when you got intimate, she was wearing a dress. When you removed her clothes – slowly taking off her dress, sliding her underwear down her legs, and slipping off her stockings – and saw her naked, pale skin for the first time, it really struck you with how much of a princess she looks like. Her skin is perfect and unblemished, if a little pale. She’s a little cold to the touch, and you wonder if that has anything to do with her being made of metal prior to wearing the crown. You know personally that she is burning hot inside under the right circumstances, but given that she’s pressed up against you naked as you try to give her a bath, you try not to think about that. You also try not to think about her pert breasts and cute, pale nipples.

You stand behind her as you turn on the shower and let it run over both of you. You can’t help but notice how the water runs down her nape, down the length of her back. Chompy barks in surprise as the water gets in her hair and on her body, and you hold her in place to calm her down before continuing. You pour shampoo into your palm, and rub your hands until bubbly, and you massage it into her scalp, earning little yips of enjoyment from her. You just notice it now, but Chompy’s bangs resemble those of Princess Toadstool, despite having a very different hairstyle.

After you’ve rinsed the suds off, you get the body wash and repeat the process. You clench your teeth in an attempt to control yourself as you rub the lather all over her heaving chest and sensitive back. You try not to think about how her panting has sped up in response to your rubbing, or how her yips have turned to moans as you soap her back.

As you rinse her off, it becomes impossible to not notice her naked rump pressed against your crotch. The pressure is too much to bear as you feel all blood in your body rush to your groin. You reach full mast in seconds, and your erect shaft plops down on the crevice of her ass. Chompy turns her head and makes eye contact with you, and from the bedroom eyes and pleading grin of sharp teeth, you understand that she wants it.

You stifle your heated breathing and place your hands on Chompy’s slim waist, pulling her to your thick pole. You take a moment to guide your rod to her hot entrance, dripping wet with both the shower water and with her natural lubricant. Teasing the head over her slit prompts a small cry and a shiver from Chompy, who stands on her tip toes to reach your hips. She places both hands on the shower wall and turns again to face you, her face soft and vulnerable like a puppy begging for love.

You thrust forward and give her want she wants. The cold water of the running shower contrasts with the melting heat of Chompy’s insides; it’s a strange feeling, but you definitely like it. You start moving your hips, and every inch of you that pistons in and out of her feels the sensation of cold water changing to her warm love juices. It sends shiver down your spine, and you wrap your arms around her torso in a hug as you continue taking her from behind.

Chompy, of course, loves it. Constant panting and moaning, along with the sound of running water and wet skin colliding, echoes in your small bathroom. Her arms seemed to have given out in her lust, as she now barely holds the wall as her face squishes against the tiles, her mouth open and tongue lolling out. You move one hand over to her clit, massaging and flicking and fondling, and your other hands to her breast, groping and squeezing and rubbing. Your attempts to bring her even more pleasure seem to work, as Chompy lets out ever louder and ever lewder noises.

It takes you by surprise when Chompy reaches up behind her and places a hand on your nape, pulling your head down to her shoulder. The look she gives you, a mix of unconditional love and extreme lust, sends you to orgasm. You hug her tight again as you slam your hips into hers, and kiss her shoulders as your prick spurts out glob after glob of your hot cum into her.

You both hold position until you’re completely spent. You pull out of her and let your jizz drip out, splashing on the shower room tiles. You keep hugging her, and you turn her head to place a loving kiss on her lips what she eagerly returns.

You’re both sweaty and sticky now, of course, and you take a real bath this time.

* * *

You can’t resist laughing at how cute Chompy looks in your spare pajamas. They’re way too big for her, and they droop at the sleeves and the ends of the pants. Chompy doesn’t seem to mind though, and she happily stuffs her face into your hand-me-downs, sniffing at your old clothes.

You only have one bed, as you’ve ever only needed one until today. The bed itself is fit for one person, but that doesn’t stop you from sharing it with Chompy. You hold her close under the covers, cuddling and planting little kisses on her. She returns your affections by pressing her body against yours, basking in the love you show her. She makes soft barks and yips as you two snuggle in the small bed.

It shouldn’t surprise you when feel her press her butt against your groin again. Is she always horny or something? Of course, you’re certainly not complaining. Not when she nibbles your chin and sucks at your lips. You let your hands wander down to her warm and moist slit.

You throw the blanket off of you both to find her bottoms stained with her wetness. You attack immediately, pulling her pants down and kissing and licking at her box. She barks and moans in the darkness, and you see her throw her head up in pleasure as you eat her out. She doesn’t seem to know what to do with her hands, and she alternates between curling her fingers in your hair to holding the bedframe to tugging at the sheets.

She tastes delicious. The heavy scent of her sex draws you in, making you think of animals in heat with their pheromones. You could easily get addicted to this – her begging you to take her, and you so enthusiastically indulging her. It’s intoxicating to think about. Maybe you’ll mix it up a bit sometimes. When she begs, you’ll let her beg. See how far before she presents herself to you shamelessly. Or would she start taking charge when you don’t cooperate? To what lengths will she go just to have you?

These thoughts float in your head lightly as you continue servicing your princess. You momentarily look up to see her with a look of ecstasy, eyes rolled back and mouth open and drooling, little ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ escaping her parted lips every few seconds, her back arching off the mattress every now and again. You place your hands on her pristine thighs and continue your feverish licking, much to her apparent enjoyment.

You’re taken by surprise when her thighs press against your ears, locking your face in between her legs as she reaches a sudden orgasm. A very loud orgasm, mind you. Her whole body spasms and goes tense, and you ride through it, sucking and slurping at her quivering cunt. When she’s finally through that ordeal, she collapses limp on the bed, looking at you all starry eyed.

You smile reassuringly and whip out your engorged manhood. As you ready yourself at her entrance, she surprises you again by hopping off the bed, and running off to the couch.

You wait dumbfounded on the bed, watching her vault over the couch. Well, half a vault. Her naked butt hangs over the backrest, making you chuckle as it wiggles midair, her upper body lost behind the sofa. Finally, she hops back to her feet and runs back to you on all fours. You can’t see from this distance in the dark, but you see she’s got something in her mouth.

As she reaches the bed, you realize it’s her collar. That’s right, you left it behind on the sofa when you first freed her. She presents it to you with a pleading look.

Oh. Okay.

As if possessed by a boner demon, you throw her with surprising strength on to the bed, and she yips in excitement as you push her down on the mattress, clasping the collar in place on her neck. She starts breathing heavily, wiggling her bum at you despite the position she’s in. You give her slutty ass cheek a slap, eliciting a surprised yelp from the horny chompette. You place a heavy hand on her head and push it down face-first into the pillow, and she raises her ass the further down you push. Deciding that she’s had enough teasing, you jam your dick into her waiting pussy, and she moans like a little hussy.

You rock your hips against hers, tugging her chain with every movement. Chompy hugs the pillow and buries her face in it further, drooling into the cotton and attempting to muffle her erotic moans. You give her rump another slap for her valiant efforts to have some shame, and she only moans louder as the sting sets in. The creaking of your bed, the rattling of chains, the slapping of skin against red skin, and the incessant panting and groaning form a cacophony of sex around you.

Finally, a wave of pleasure crashes over you. You fit as much of you can inside of her before shooting your biggest load yet. You yank her chain as hard as you can, and Chompy loses all sense of control as she lets out a long, drawn out moan, toes curling, hands twitching, and womb milking. You let her massage your seed out of your dick a little while longer before you both collapse onto the bed, worn out and numb everywhere.

You manage to get a last look at her – she's so content in your arms, filled to the brim with your love – before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

You wake up with a jolt, but remain laying on the bed. You felt an oppressive presence just now. A cold bead of sweat forms on your brow. Something’s not right.

You try to look at Chompy beside you, but you can’t move your neck. You can’t move. At all. The cold is biting at you, the air is so heavy, and you feel like you’re being crushed. Are you frozen out of fear? Is this nightmare?

You don’t feel Chompy beside you. Where did she go?

You hear a titillating giggle a little too close to your ear, ripping you from your thoughts. You scream, but no sound comes out of your open mouth. The unseen force giggles again in the unnaturally dark room.

“Do you enjoy fucking your dog like that, you freak?" asks an ethereal feminine voice mockingly.

That voice, seductive yet terrifying, sends goosebumps all over your skin. Especially when it starts giggling again.

Especially when the giggling becomes moans accompanied by a soft wet sound. The wet sound gets more frantic, as do the disembodied moans.

“Don’t be shy now,” continues the voice, managing to fit the sentence between ragged breathing and lusty groans. “Do you like it when she--”

All sounds are interrupted by a loud barking on your other side. Chompy! 

The terrifying darkness fades into the more natural dark of the night. The weighted air holding you down disappears, and you look beside you to see Chompy angrily barking at something on your other side.

You shoot up and face the owner of the voice, and are stunned to see a young woman, skin as pale as snow and long, messy hair just as white, dressed in a white gown and a super crown. She shakes in fear as Chompy and you make eye contact with her, a hand stuck between her bare legs ending in hazy mist.

You’re looking at a booette.

You’re looking at a booette who was jilling off in your room while talking about how hard you fucked Chompy into the mattress.

“I-I’m sorry for intruding!!” she yells, throwing her hands over her face as she blushes profusely. “I-I’ll see myself o-out!” she continues, floating off at top speed to the far end of the room before disappearing behind the wall, in the direction of the abandoned room down the hall.

Chompy stops barking and gives you a hug before collapsing into the bed, snoring already. You take a few seconds to process what just happened before joining her under the covers, though you find it much harder to fall back asleep now.

You’ll be sure to complain to Spora about hauntings tomorrow. And nosy neighbors.


	4. Chompette 4: The Dickening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Chompy awaken to a new day, and you plan for how you'll report the previous night's booette incident to your landlord, Spora.

You awaken to natural sunlight slipping through a crack in your curtains. You groan and shift away, but you fail. There's a weight on your arm preventing you moving. 

It's Chompy of course. She's sleeping soundly in your arms, facing away from you. You press your face into the fluff of her hair, earning a soft, loving yawn from your sleepy lover. You remember cuddling up to her when you finally drifted off to sleep, which was difficult after the ordeal last night. 

That's right, you remember. Your home was invaded by your neighbor, a perverted booette with a voyeurism kink. You realize you should get up soon, so you can catch up to your landlady Spora before she disappears until the late afternoon. Now that you think about it, you don't know at all what she does when she goes missing during the day – is it work? Does she visit friends? Whatever it is, it takes up eight hours of her day, from nine o' clock in the morning to five o’clock clock in the afternoon. You'll want to catch her before then, otherwise you'll have to wait until the evening to tell her about the problem. 

Chompy turns to nuzzle into your bare chest, and you hug her as you look at the clock – 7:02. You have lots of time. Perfect for a quick shower and a hearty breakfast, and dressing up nic-- 

A tight grip finds itself on your loins, taking you by surprise. Before you can look down to confirm your suspicions, Chompy attacks, sinking her teeth into your shoulder – the same shoulder as always. 

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! It also makes all the blood in your body rush into your erogenous zones, but that's beside the point. You yell at her to stop, but it seems she’s too sleepy to understand. Or maybe she doesn't care. Either way, she pushes you into your back and throws the sheets off of you both. She straddles your hips, still latched to your shoulder with her mouth as she guides your erect length into her welcoming warmth. 

You should be used to it by now, honestly. You try to think of how 'not all relationships need sex all the time' and 'she doesn't need to do this for you’, but let's be real with ourselves here. You enjoy it. And So does she. It's that simple. A little section in your brain accepts this truth, and you let yourself give in. 

Chompy breathes heavily, slobbering on your shoulder as she begins forcing her hips down onto yours, her movements just as frantic and hungry as the other times she's done this. The cold metal of her collar presses onto your exposed chest, a reminder of what happened last night. You place a hand on her bottom as she rides you, and the other on her own hand holding the bed for support. She twitches at your touch, and the moan that escapes her let you know it was a good move. 

You slowly push her onto her back, and she lets you. Now on top of her, you manage to detach her from your shoulder, though not without her whimpering sadly. You touch the wet, sore spot she loves biting and wince from the sensation. You look down at Chompy to see her looking into your eyes, a puppy stare of adoration on her face. You ignore the pain and smile, and you begin rocking your hips. You hold her hands and kiss, and she wraps her legs around your waist and groans into your mouth. 

You're not just having sex anymore. You're making love. You love each other. You don't stop thinking about it. You love her, so much. Is that pathetic or something, falling in love with a less-than-cognitive woman that might not have been a girl at all, or even humanoid, last week? Is it bad that you've only known her for less than forty-eight hours? The nagging voice goes away when Chompy, on the verge of tears of joy, presses her face into the side of your neck. She doesn't bite, and instead places a kiss against your hot skin and beating pulse. She loves you. She loves you and you love her and it doesn't matter she was a chain chomp or that you met her just yesterday. All that matters is that love, and you focus on that love as you reach your peak, shoving your thick rod into her and spilling your seed within. 

You hold her close, hugging and squeezing and whispering declarations of love in her ear as you shoot your load into her quivering, clamping hole. As you ride your last wave of pleasure, you place your lips on Chompy’s and give her a deep kiss, to which she happily, if a little sloppily, returns. Even when you’re done, you just hold her, kissing and embracing. 

You’re completely spent. You lay on the bed, catching your breath, just holding your princess tight in your arms. Even Chompy is exhausted – the princess lays on you like a dead weight, panting and heaving for air. After spending some time in each other’s arms, and having finally caught your breath, you gently move Chompy beside you, laying her on the bed. You give her one last kiss before turning to sit up on the edge of the mattress. 

Glancing at the clock, you see it’s now 7:38. Not bad. You begin mapping out your morning routine as you get off the bed and make way for the bathroom, carefully accounting for the time you just spent getting intimate with Chompy. You'd have to take a good shower to get the heavy scent of sex off of you, leaving you with just enough time to eat a quick breakfast so that you’d still have time to look decent when you talk to Spora. You tell Chompy to stay where she is and be good as you take a bath. 

Chompy barks and jumps off the bed, then races to squeeze herself through the bathroom door. She's still quite fast, despite her pajama pants pooling at her ankles, and manages to crash into you in the shower. You laugh and ask if she wants a bath too, to which she yips happily in response. 

* * *

You suck in air through clenched teeth as you pump your hips into Chompy's. Chest to chest, her face pressed against your neck, her on her tiptoes and you on slightly bent knees, and your arms wrapped around one another. You place your hands on her buttocks and squeeze, and the delightful gasp Chompy lets out only drives you to pound her harder. You're deep inside her again, once more fucking her senseless in the shower. Cold water washes over the both of you as hot sweat and sex fluids run down your bodies. 

You place your hands on her butt and squeeze – the gasp Chompy let’s out only driving you to move your hips faster. She holds you close, pressing her body against yours as you pound away. She grasps onto your back and slowly pulls you so she can lean her back on the wall. All the while she breathes hot and heavy on your nape. Cold water runs down and cools you, only for her to heat you up again, and so on. 

You keep going at it, fucking her against the wall, to the steadily quickening beat of her breath in your ear. Faster, faster, until all Chompy can utter is moans and yips with only the splashing of water and slapping of skin to accompany her. And then, release. You bury yourself in her burning folds and drop rope after rope of your cum into her waiting womb. She quivers and cries out, trembling in your embrace as she feels you fill her up again. You wait for a few seconds, letting her inner walls milk you to the last drop before pulling out. A mix of her cum and yours floods out of her now unplugged pussy.  

With a satisfied bark, Chompy perks up and starts kissing you, seemingly back to full energy. You yourself feel like your knees may give out at any time. You'll want to catch your breath before talking to Spora. 

Oh, right. 

You turn off the water in one hand and quickly open the shower door with the other, peeking your head out to check the time on your phone. 8:06. That's enough time to take a actual bath, for real this time, and maybe grab an energy bar on your way out. 

You re-enter the shower and turn on the water, shushing the excited Chompy in there with you. You pet her and tell her that you're in a rush, so no more funny business until you come back later. 

Chompy barks, seemingly understanding you. She let’s you bathe her and yourself with no resistance. 

* * *

Chompy let’s out a cry as you slap her ass again, a mix of pain and pleasure, as you tug on her chain and bend her over the kitchen table. Her face is squished against the cold surface of your bargain bin table, drool pooling at her cheeks As you passionately and rhythmically slam into her molten box, she gazes at you over her shoulder with a look of love bordering on obsession.  

You can't get enough of it. The sensation, the warmth, her reactions and the ways she looks at you, it’s all too addictive. The sound of her moans and cries, the look of crazed ecstasy she makes when you treat her roughly, her heartwarming reactions of adoration, it’s all too much for you. You can't believe your luck that you found her, that she’s with you and she loves you the same way. You must be the luckiest person in the world, you think. 

Or would that be her? You saved her from that abandoned dungeon, gave her clothes and food and a home. Maybe you’re just lucky to have each other. 

It’s getting increasingly hard to think, as the undeniable sounds of sex and Chompy's lusty moans get louder and louder. Then you hit your peak, and it becomes completely impossible to maintain your higher faculties. You let your instincts take the reins as you reach orgasm, and your instincts tell you yank her chain one last time, bend down and bite her shoulder, and shoot your seed as far and as deep as physically possible – you’re happy to obey. 

You never questioned why Chompy loved biting you – she's a chain chomp, that's what they do – but you never really wondered how she would feel if you but her instead. And as you bite down on her shoulder hard enough to leave a mark, but no more than that, you find the answer to the question you didn’t know you had. Chompy's eyes roll to the back of her head, her tongue lolls about of her mother was she screams a soundless scream. Her arms give out under her as her legs twitch rigidly, and her red hot walls clench hard on you like they've never clenched before. A torrent of her feminine fluids squirts out of her and spills all over the kitchen floor as you dump today’s third load into her. You’re left breathless and speechless as Chompy convulses on you. 

After a while of this orgasmic bliss, you finally pull out your numb member, prompting Chompy to collapse on her knees with a weak bark. Feeling as though your knees could give out too, you sit your ass down on the nearest chair and try to catch your breath and think. That was loud, louder than usual. Looking down at Chompy on her knees trying to haul herself up using the table, and looking at the pool of her liquid love floor, you also realize it’s pretty messy. You didn't think she's have that kind of reaction, but you’re glad you do now. Wiping sweat off your brow, you think to yourself that you really hope your pervert neighbor didn’t see that. 

Wait. 

You look at the clock. 9:02. 

Shit. 

* * *

You step out of your room, shirt slightly askew and sweat hastily wiped off with a paper towel, just in time to find the elevator about to close. You yell for whoever may be in there to hold the door to no avail, as the doors shut just before you can get a look inside. You rush downstairs to catch the elevator, and from the bottom of the stairs you see Spora on her way out of the building. You run and call her name once more, and she finally turns back. 

She pulls up her designer shades to regard you with a smile and quick rover eyes as you slow to a halt before her. You greet her a good morning between huff’s of breath. 

“Good morning, darling,” she responds with a sultry tone. “Did you need something? I was just about to go shopping.” Before you can respond, she continues, “Oh me oh my, you’re a mess, dear. Just woke up?” she asks with a sly chuckle. She playfully pat’s down and parts your hair with one hand, and you try not to blush. “Much better!” she says, having decided she’s done with your hair. “Now, what was it you had in mind?” 

She's still smiling that smile of a confident woman – not a girl, a woman. Hardly the smile she used to have before putting on the crown. 

You thank her timidly before you tell her that you wanted to tell her that, and this may sound crazy, the apartment next to your own is haunted, and that you feel like the matter should be handled soon. 

“Ah, I see you’ve met Therese,” Spora says. “She’s cute, isn’t she?” Spora then laughs a lady's laugh at your dumbfounded expression. She knew one of her own tenants is a ghost? “Well, she usually keeps to herself,” Spora continues. “Is she giving you a problem?” 

You nod, and tell her that 'Therese' entered your apartment without your permission, and attempted to scare you in the middle of the night. 

“That’s quite unlike her,” Spora comments. Does she know her well? “Did she do anything else?” 

You swallow your spit and place a hand on your nape, and your neck instinctively cranes down before you explain. The ghost was. Er, well, she was. Um. 

“Hmm? Speak up, darling.” Spora gets closer, the space between you no, or lack thereof, only making it hard to spit it out. 

Figurative spaghetti threatens to spill out of your pockets at any moment, but then a spark in Spora’s eyes and her sudden, surprised look signal that she understands the nature of the incident. 

The surprised look slowly but surely changes, as Spora’s eyelids droop down into a smug expression, and she turns her chin up as she puts a palm over her glossy blue lips. “Oooh, my,” she says in a low tone. “That’s actually something she may do, yes. Always seemed like the type.” 

Spora places a tentative hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn your head back up and make surprised eye contact. She gives you a wide, genuine smile that catches you off guard. Your heart may have skipped a beat just then. 

“Darling,” Spora says, “why don’t we take this to my office to discuss this more?” 


End file.
